Milan
by amzzz123
Summary: There is creek in this, I swear... eventually...


so, i was in milan over the half term holiday, and my dad took me to see places there. i was daydreaming in the MOMA park (lol, guess what bit?) and this hit me... and you get this...

i hope there's no episodes where Craig goes to somewhere like Mexico before "pandemic"...

can't tell if i like it not, but oh well, i hope you do.

* * *

Craig's family never really were the type of people to go on holiday.

It just wasn't the sort of thing any of them thought about. Craig and Ruby were too young to worry over leaving the confines of school and home, the mother was too much of a workaholic and the father was far too accustomed to his generic, repetitive life to even consider the tiring, time-and-money-consuming tasks that were booking, paying, packing and leaving for a holiday.

By the age of 9, Denver was the furthest Craig had ever been, and that was usually to visit his mother's family. Those occasions were depressingly boring and dreaded, and, especially when combined with school trips that normally ended in tragedy due to four certain boys, left the young boy with a very dulled opinion on travel.

However, when the time was getting close to Craig's tenth birthday, his mother snapped. His parent's arguing had begun to twist from playful insults to vicious verbal repartee over the slightest problem, although it hadn't yet escalated to the status the fights hit during his teen years.

He could still remember his mum screeching a half-formed argument against his dad about how they hadn't been abroad since their honeymoon, she was tired of being stuck in South Park, she wanted to get _out_. _Mrs black_ had just gotten back from being taken on a romantic trip to Venice, why didn't _he_ ever take _her_ to Italy?

Craig had watched from the stairs, his usual indifferent mask pulled across his face. His father had fought back, South Park was a fine place, and the Blacks could afford a weekend away in Venice, why did she want a holiday all of a sudden? She'd been fine earlier. And maybe he _could _consider a family holiday, if she'd just shut-the-hell-up.

Craig could remember the fight as ongoing, hours of endless screams and words, but it was probably only around 10 to twenty minutes long. Eventually his dad had cracked under her screaming, and agreed that a holiday could be a good idea. He'd sat on the couch, she on the arm of the seat, looking over his shoulder to the screen of a small laptop. Venice had been too expensive, but his father had been able to find decently priced plane tickets to Milan, at which his mother became very excited. Craig couldn't understand why at the time but now, with almost 15 more years of being able to attempt to understand women, he could see that Milan being the "fashion capital" would've been a very important matter to his mother.

He could remember his mum becoming more and more excited with each click, while his dad became more and more stressed as the price of the holiday seemed to increase.

The few weeks leading up to the holiday had been tense. Craig hardly dared to speak with his parents, as they would bite his head off every time he broke them out of their strained panicking. Bite his head off, and swallow his hat. He didn't want to loose his hat.

One was worried over packing, forgetting the children or falling to their death, burglars and becoming stranded. The other simply grumbled over prices and holidays that had a lack of point.

The arguing had also increased, up to the day before they were due to leave. Craig had honestly thought his parents were going to split up that night, and get a "de-force", or whatever Stan's parents had gotten that one time.

They argued all night, right up to the time when they had to leave to catch their five-thirty flight and Craig had slept in Ruby's bed that night.

The journey had been long, but he only really remembered that they'd had red racer on the TVs and the flight attendant's face had gone purple when he'd flipped her off.

Then came the holiday. Smoke, loud cars, and good food. That's what he could remember about Italy. And fields of sunflowers. For some reason he'd never forgotten about that.

A couple of scenes from the holiday were stuck in his head. There'd been lots of grills on the streets of Milan, and he spent most of the time outside running across them and looking through them to the grimy, dark world bellow.

Remembering the time he'd jumped as hard as he could on one to try and scare an old lady walking past him at the time always made him chuckle. After that he'd jumped on every single grill. He told himself it was a dare to see if he was brave enough to jump on each one, definitely_ not_ because he wanted to know if his parents would care if he fell and disappeared forever.

They did care, as a matter of fact, his mum had yelled at him for messing around. His dad had told her he was just having-a-bit-of-fun, but once she'd mentioned she felt faint at the idea of someone falling through, Craig was no longer allowed to walk over the grates.

He could remember taking out his frustration by showing his middle finger to every person who walked by. It was working, too, until a policeman turned a gun on him.

His mum had screamed and pulled him close, protectively, while his father bellowed at the man until he deemed them all as another bunch of ignorant foreigners and walked away. Ruby watched the scene unfold from her pram, calmly sucking at her dummy.

Craig could remember the holiday not being so bad after that happened.

Eventually, as with most holidays, the small black haired boy found himself wandering around several museums. One of them seemed to be an art museum, though he couldn't understand why his parents said it was moaning.(1)

His mother had fallen in love with each piece, telling them all interesting facts about each method used, topic of painting or artist- but Craig couldn't quite recall any of them now. He'd found most of the paintings either funny or incredibly depressing, and got bored very quickly, complaining that he wanted to go and eat some of that nice bread stuff again. fo-chacha, for-cachino, something like that.(2)

They had left, eventually, but had just moved to a small park just outside. A sign on the gate, with English underneath the Italian, read that only children under the age of twelve could enter, with an adult. He'd wondered if that meant adults weren't allowed in if they didn't have a child, but he saw a couple stroll in on their own so he supposed not.

The place was rather stunning in it's subtle beauty. Craig found himself going very quiet as he walked across the thick grass bellow his feet. Most of the park was framed with tress, a pond somewhat at one end. He slowly separated himself from the rest of his family, drifting over towards the water. There were ducks near the water, but they were sectioned off from the reach of a small child. But that was okay, he'd gone off of birds after the mutant turkey occasion.

It wasn't really a pond, he saw as he neared it, as the water circled around a small island in the centre, like a river, with a bridge connecting the island to land. At one end of the island there was a monument, a few roofed pillars set in a circle, and trees hung over the fences used to separate the birds.

Craig had run back across the bridge after circling the monument a couple of times, reading the graffiti that dulled its striking look. The bridge lead him onto a pathway secluded by trees. From there, he could see his parents relaxing on the grass with Ruby. It almost made him smile to see them so calm.

Some steps up a smaller pathway and he'd been stood over a small waterfall, leaning over a fence to look at the water. He'd still been hidden by trees, and inwardly grinned at how he could lean down and swim his hand through the silvery water without his mother snapping at him.

Once the excitement from that wore off, he'd stood up and leant against the plant-covered wall behind him. It was slightly damp and cool against his back, and small white flowers could be seen in the corner of his vision.

He had shut his eyes slowly, listening to the water rushing down bellow him. The corners of his mouth were turned up in a slight smile, and he'd felt very…. peaceful and content there.

He wondered what sort of people had come here before himself. There would've been plenty of visitors like him, but what before that? His parents had said the building with the art in was once a palace, so did that mean royalty used to stand there? Did Kings ever walk through, listening to the water, trying to get away from the stress of their royal lives? Would princesses sit under the same trees as he did, hiding from their maids, or would suitors ever lead their beloved by the hand to request marriage?

He was called back to the real world once more a few moments later by his mother crying out his name. He had paused before replying to her. Looking around, he'd had to blink a couple of times. He'd almost forgotten he didn't care for that sort of cheesy, lame stuff, and had gotten carried away by the peaceful atmosphere.

However, he could understand why his imaginary suitors would propose here. In all of his nine years, he'd never once worried over having a partner in his life. He'd always thought girls were icky, especially since the time they'd dressed up as Paris Hilton and tried to kiss him. His dreams of the future were still mostly based on childish imagination, but all took place independently, alone. There was never another person included, female or otherwise.

However, he was struck by the calm simplicity of the area, and made a quick deal with himself. Whoever he chose to be his "beloved", he would bring them here, and play the part of the imaginary suitors.

Another cry had him shaking his head. He must've been feeling ill to think stuff like that, and had rushed off to his family. He was soon dragged off to discover how boring shopping could be, and had promptly forgot about the hidden pathway in the park.

A coffee cup being set down with a "_chnk_" pulled him out of his daydream, and he looked up into the concerned, brown eyes of Tweek. He blinked, and looked down and the mug set down before him. He smiled briefly at the younger boy, and thanked him as he leant across to pick up the mug of warm liquid. The colour reflected the blonde's eyes. Tweek smiled back and sat, curled up, on the sofa next to Craig.

They lived in a small flat together, with decorations simple enough both for their tastes and the pay of two coffee shop workers. It was nice, the colours mostly a muted blue or pale green, and Craig found living there with Tweek comfortable. Especially as the blonde's obsessive panicking over every possible problem in the world meant that the apartment was spotless at all times, without Craig needing to lift a finger.

That was why his parents had been okay with their relationship. Apparently, Tweek was a "positive influence" on Craig. That, and they also now got free coffee whenever they went to Tweek's parent's coffee shop.

Craig brought the mug to his lips, enjoying the rich smell that reminded him of Tweek.

He wondered vaguely why he'd been thinking over his first (and only) family holiday, but dropped it after a little while, feeling Tweek's shaking form relax against his own. They'd been a couple for a few years now, since they were…. 17? Craig blinked. He hadn't realised how long it'd been since they'd started their funny relationship. The blonde had been his best friend for so long before that, he found it difficult to remember when the change had happened.

He looked over at the younger boy, catching the eye of his best friend, lover, whatever you wanted to call him, it all meant the same to Craig; Tweek.

So he smiled, and asked,

"D'you fancy going to Italy?"

* * *

(1) lol, that is _sooo _not my view on the MOMA... heh moaning, d'you geddit? like, moma-moani-

n-no? okay...

(2) this bread is actually "focaccia" and is the most gorgeous food on the planet. trust me.

oh, and never mess with the italian police.

ugh... do not like the ending to this...


End file.
